Asylum Carnival Rides
by starrynightly
Summary: Karkat Vantas was applying for a job as a nurse at the Sgrub Asylum. Why? He needed the money so he could support himself and, you know, not die from something lame like starvation. The great thing about it was that they did not require the knowledge of your blood color to work at the place. The bad thing was that he was assigned to be the personal attendant of a psycho-juggalo.
1. The Grape Folder

The room was large and the walls were littered with notes and printed papers, inked with all the colors of the hemospectrum though it seemed red was more frequently used, and was not part of the hemospectrum. The notes and papers detailed important things such as newly arriving mental patients, tax due dates, lists of asylum doctors, also along with the occasional bored doodle. The little wall that was not covered by any of this chaos was teal.

The floorboards were not old, judging by their shine in the luminescent white lights on the ceiling, which did not display a single crack. Obviously, this room was taken well care of. No cracks, no strange or suspicious holes, no evidence of murder or sedation, but then again, the walls did cause a feeling of disarray. There were simply too many colors to focus on, and then for the background set as teal.

The near-center piece of the room was the mahogany desk, which had many compartments, raised on a high platform, and there were small stairs that led up to the seemingly organized desk. There was a tall lamp that set diligently to the side of the thick wooden table that provided golden light. A large, burgundy office chair was turned away from the front of the room, almost curtly.

In front of the intimidatingly high desk were two cushioned red chairs, designed for and sat upon the employees who were to receive judgement from the Sgrub Asylym manager. Sometimes it was good news, mostly bad news. However, a young troll by the name of Karkat Vantas sat in the furnished chair, waiting, fidgetting, hoping he could obtain this job so he could make a living for himself.

Karkat Vantas was somewhat of a small troll, even for a male. He stood below most, and towered over little. But you had to give him credit for being taller or as tall as most females, just, to his loathsome disappointment, not males. The poor troll blamed it on his genetic, redblooded mutation, and he constantly berated himself as a result. Due to his unnatural blood color, he could never find a job that _doesn't _require information about such sensitive detail. The jobs he had heard of were extremely rare, but asked too much of him or were simply too far away.

The mere fact that this occupation showed up on his doorstep was a blessing the universe gave to Karkat as a pity-gift, and the mutant was definitely not going to throw it away. He couldn't. He would fucking display it on top drawer if he had to. But still, it was kind of embarrassing. The job Karkat was applying for was a nurse, the word caused the nubby-horned troll to scowl slightly, for a mental asylum containing the most dangerous and unstable trolls of Alternia, where, unfortunately, the lowbloods and the highbloods were unsegregated. Yes, that was the catch the universe baited Karkat with, and it caught him as easily as a lusus succumbs to a wriggler when it begs endlessly for candy. But . . . keeping lowbloods and highbloods unsegregated? That was just asking for unnecessary trouble, and it made Karkat's head pound.

The mutant fidgetted with his hands, attempting to ignore the headache and the fuzzy anxiety lodged in his gut. He tried to look anywhere except for the chair on the high platform, where the manager sat, hidden away from Karkat, probably calculating how to turn Karkat down while setting his resume ablaze. He hoped that wasn't so. The troll desperately needed this job, and he'll probably kiss anybody's ass to obtain it. And that was a serious understatement.

It seemed to Karkat that the unbarible silence lasted forever, with neither he nor the manager obting to strike up conversation. The room, despite its large size, was incredibly stuffy to the small troll, and that the entire weight of Alternia rested on its shoulders. Plus its two moons. His eyes darted over to the cushioned chair that lied right next to him, silently and ugly with loneliness.

Then there was a sound. It wasn't much, but it was a bit of noise regardless, yet Karkat couldn't decide if he should relax because of it or tense up even further. Yet it sounded like . . . chewing?—no, gnawing. This was curious, and it caught Karkat's attention in a vascular beat. It came from the asylum manager's chair, causing the mutant to suck in more air than he needed in his air sacks. The air came sputtering back in shuddering breaths.

The manager, known to the world as Terezi Pyrope, chewed and gnawed on red chalk as she read the saliva-covered resume that slid onto her desk only minutes ago. In honesty, she could have cared less about the previous jobs Karkat had functioned with before, despite how little and inexperienced he was could be. He could listen to the doctors and be told what to do and how to work with the patients, and that was simply enough for her, and certainly enough for the Sgrub Asylum. Hell, to Terezi, it was if Karkat, who dared to step a brave foot in this forsaken building in the first place, desired a challenge, craved it, and what would she be if she ignored it?

It was decided. Terezi swivelled her chair to meet Karkat face-to-face, sort of (she was on a rather tall, intimidating platform, though). She sat the resume down on her desk, and tapped her fingers along the wood. The teal blood grinned widely for the mutant to see in all of its sharp, toothy glory, with large hints of red around her mouth. "You're hired, Karkles."

Karkat was instantly met with relief and all of his initial worries of being rejected faded away into nothingness. His shoulders slumped, not as tense as he use to be. Though his new boss was . . . a bit eccentric, he could care less about that. He could even care less about the red shit all over her face. But he did mind the fact that his resume, that he caught a small glimce of, was all gross and tinted pink. Just a little. Karkat coughed awkwardly, sitting up on the edge of the burgundy chair. "When can I start?" He asked. It felt good to say that.

"You can start tomorrow at noon—don't be late! And since you applied here at the Sgrub Asylum as a nurse," Terezi could not stifle her little giggle, "you will be assigned to a personal patient, though I should remind you that any caliginous or flushed relationships with the patients are strictly forbidden. However, pale and auspistice ones are extremely encouraged for the patient's mental benefit, and to keep them out of trouble."

Terezi leaned down into the desk's left compartment draw and sniffed for a certain file of a certain patient who drove off the last nurse a few days ago. The stupid pansy. He looked better off without a foot anyway, and thank god for Release Forms. There it was, the delicious grape-smelling one! Terezi sat properly in her seat again. She clipped a release form (apparently, it came from that ridiculously high paper stack on the very corner of the desk) and a pen onto the folder, then she tossed it over to Karkat, who caught it miraculously by the very edge. But the pen dropped to the floor. Damn, that would had been so cool otherwise. "Sign the Release Form first, please, and you'll be looking after _that _one," Terezi nodded toward Karkat as a way of allowing him to open it.

Karkat nervously sneered as the pen fell to the floor, and the worry returned as swift punch to his stomach. That was a huge stack of Release Forms. Did people quit their jobs so frequently around here? . . . or were they injured out of their jobs? Karkat could not chicken out now. He reached for the pen and used it to sign the paper with his unique signature, then the mutant continued and opened up the file.

PATIENT: _GAMZEE MAKARA _ MENTAL STATUS: _HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXTREMELY VIOLENT_

IDENTIFICATION NO.: _13G4M_

ROOM NO.: 024B

AGE: _Nine (9) solar sweeps_

BLOOD COLOR: _Indigo_

SOCIAL CLASS: _Sub-royalty_

ANCESTRY (IF KNOWN): _The direct descendent of the high subjugglator, The Grand Highblood_

HEIGHT: _Six feet, three inches (6'3'')_

WEIGHT: _One hundred sixty-two pounds (162 lbs.)_

BACKGROUND:

_Makara lived by the oceans in a normal, common hive that did not befit his social class, and his custodian was never around to properly raise Makara because he was always out to sea. Strangely enough, he never countered any problems with the sea dwellers, despite the fact that there was evidence of litter around the area. Due to a lousy upbringing by his lusus, he was never taught to not consume sopor slime, without the knowing the harmful health problems, influenced gaze, and the occasional hallucination the toxic substance can cause. Makara had to fend for himself for a living, and learned how to protect himself with large, blunt clubs should any other trolls, or lusii, decide to show. At some point in time, he found religion with a juggalo cult that worshipped the Mirthful Messiahs, and he began to don white facepaint that made him appear as a clown. He drank the soda known as Faygo frequently, Makara and other followers refer the beverage as the "wicked elixir." Faygo bottles were a part of the litter around the hive and ocean._

_ Gamzee Makara had only one friend that lived relatively close around his area, said friend's name is Tavros Nitram. It is suspected that Makara began to develope flushed feelings for the brown blooded troll when they were younger, suggested by Makara's ramblings in his fitful slumber. One day Makara and Nitram were playing together along the edges of the beach when the cerulean blooded she-troll, Vriska Serket murdered Nitram out of jealousy. This is suspected to because Serket had redrom feelings for the lowblood, and grew insane because if she could not have him, no one would. This sobered Makara immediately, and he attempted to kill Serket out of revenge and insanity. Serket managed to escape the indigo blood's clutches, but his insanity continued. He burned down his own hive in a fit of extreme anger, and burned down several other hives, killing dozens of innocent victims. He was then sedated by Imperial Drones and brought to trial before His Honorable Tyranny._

_ Makara was ruled unstable and unfit to be allowed into troll society, but because of his social class and ancestry, it would have been an extreme waste of good genes to cull the troll. Therefore, Makara was sentence to spend his life in the Sgrub Asylum until he was no longer sick and able to cooperate properly with other trolls. This ruling will allow the time he has to find a proper matesprit and kismesis to deposit genetic material to the Imperial Drones to be delayed until mentally sound and stable. He was admitted to the Sgrub Asylum when he was six (6) solar sweeps old._

DIAGNOSIS:

_-Biopolar Disorder_

_-Clinical Depressive Disorder_

_-Nightmare Disorder_

_-Oneirophrenia_

_-Extreme psychosis_

-Dysphoric mania

FURTHER DETAILS:

—_Vriska Serket, murderer of Tavros Nitram, has also been ruled to the Sgrub Asylum. It is IMPERATIVE to keep Gamzee Makara and Vriska Serket away from each other as much as possible. The two trolls are STRICTLY NOT ALLOWED to come out of their respective rooms at the same time._

_ —DO NOT APPROACH MAKARA IF HE ESCAPES, HE IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS EVEN WHILE BONDED BY A STRAIGHT JACKET. ALLOW SECURITY TO SEDATE HIM FROM AFAR, HIDE SO HE DOES NOT LOCATE AND KILL YOU. REPEAT, DO NOT APPROACH MAKARA IF HE ESCAPES._

_ —It is extremely unwise to ask anything about Vriska Serket, Tavros Nitram, or his lusus. It is suggested to talk about "miracles" instead. He may ramble on to you about it, or he may give you an odd look and remain silent._

_ —Do NOT allow Makara to consume sopor slime. Do NOT allow Makara to sleep in a recooperacoon without a muzzle._

_ —It is ideally the best to inject medicine into Makara whenever he is taking a nap._

Karkat closed the folder with a grim expression on his face, and when his eyes darted up to Terezi's face, she was only grinning as if it was the most natural thing in the world to shatter Karkat's world by merely handing him a small file of an insane clown. He . . . he _really_ could not turn this job down. However, he was surprised this Gamzee-guy's background was so short. You would have figured that being the descendent of The Grand Freakin' Highblood he would have had a more grander entry than just three paragraphs. Or perhaps more about his life was simply burned away in his hive, and that Gamzee refused to speak of it. That seemed likely.

"Well?" Terezi asked, voice jeering, while the red, obnoxious grin remained in place.

"I'll help him back to health. It shouldn't be a problem at all." Karkat said softly, quietly, uncharacteristically of his loud, protesting nature. As he announced this declaration to Terezi, he made it his oath to help this poor highblood back to his proper thought. If it could ever be retained at all, of course. Karkat stood up from the comfortable, burgundy chair, he slid the file and the Release Form onto the desk back to its owner.

"Excellent," she giggled loudly, to a point where it almost deviously maniacal. She stored the folder back into the desk's left compartment, and the Release Form aside for later inspection. "You'll be working with Doctor Aradia Megido, a fine rust blood. She will teach you everything you need to know about being a nurse and how to administer the unruly highblood. Though I caution you, she does have a fairly morbid sense of humor.

"Come back here tomorrow to retrieve your new uniform and locker key. You may redress in the restrooms and store your casual clothes in your locker, of course! Don't lose the key."

Karkat nodded somberly and turned to leave Terezi's office. Karkat had a lot to reflect upon when he returned back to his hive, more so than he thought necessary. He opened the door, and trudged out, closing the door with a solemn click.


	2. Cold weather and Irritation

The walk from Karkat's hive to the work place was not a far one, it snagged at least twenty minutes out of the night, even while trudging through an abundance of overbearing snow, but to the young troll it consumed a multitude of hours of his time. Clocks seemed to tick in his ears, and his vascular pump beated erratically within the confines of his chest, pounding against his ribcage. It was imperative for Karkat to assume position on Makara's good side—while retaining almost all of his own dignity, of course—as well as . . . Aradia Megido's? That sounded right. He was too busy concentrating about the unstable highblood to even bother his thinkpan about Megido in the first place, but then again, it would be best to stay on her good side, too. If the mutant remembered correctly, Terezi had said that Aradia had a morbid sense of humor. Maybe he could start with a joke or a witty comment to lighten the air, something like "Seen any _dead bodies _lately?" or "You seem down in the _dumps _today!"

. . . Never mind.

But Karkat digressed; it was time to return to the more serious matter, the insane psycho-juggalo. Karkat was still trying to wrap his thinkpan around the concepts of a stupid crown religion frowned upon by society, but could not. Wait a second, the mutant was not knowledgeable about anything on that juggalo-fanatic cult, so it would be naturally awful of him to critize something he knew nothing about, something he _didn't _want to know anything about. Hell, he could listen to Makara ramble all day about his "Mirthful Messiahs" and "miracles" and wouldn't get it anyway, so what was the point? But let's try to sum this guy all up.

Gamzee Makara was a religious nut, a highblood who was most likely capable to set water on fire, flipped his shit completely when his only friend was murdered and probably freaked out on a regular basis, and was so catastrophic that the Imperial Drones had to literally throw his ass into the Sgrub Asylum. Practically _no one_ gets thrown into a mental asylum unless they really were _that _bad; lowblooded trolls with an ordinary ancestry would be culled for unnecessary murders and mental trips like that. Gamzee was obviously no ordinary troll, and his blood and background saved him from being culled. And as if that wasn't pitiful enough, the depth of his insanity was increased and characterized by the sopor slime he consumed idiotically when he was never taught to not eat the toxic shit. Actually, no, not idiotically, obliviously, and he was so addicted to it that there was no wonder why he had to sleep with a muzzle tight around his jaw. Damn, Karkat already pitied him. Then again, he had a blunt feeling that everyone else in the institution had a horribly bad past, or present, so he might feel pity for every single fucking troll there. Excellent.

As mentioned previously, there was snow all along the sidewalk. There was snow everywhere, and, much to Karkat's great dismay, it was still snowing, a result of Alternia's dark season*. The small troll's body was shivering, even with all of the thick layers of clothing he wore. Thank goodness he always prepared himself for the kind of shit the universe loved to throw at him. He would have been dead a few times over if he didn't. But the universe hated him for some special undefined purpose, as if it were some sick rite of passage for him to be hatched as a plaything for a viciously unremorseful cat. The overbearingly pan-numbing events as a wriggler growing into trollhood only highlighted the evidence of all the horrors and problems of his life. All Karkat wanted to be was a _troll_ who belonged to this world, not a mutant vainly salvaging the right to live. He wanted to leap out of the shadows and be accepted for who he was, an asshole and not some freak of nature. Not to be mistaken as a joke of nature, because there was nothing funny about this "joke". This shit was cruel. He wanted to find another job that did not cater to any psychopathic clowns. But the universe did not play ball the way he wanted to, so Karkat blamed himself for it instead, because obviously this bullshit was pre-destined. Chiselled in stone, hand carved. And he hated himself. He really did.

Karkat could not help but brood and sulk as he trudged through the thick snow with little difficulty. The Sgrub Asylum was not much farther away, and he shuddered to think about its most interesting patient. The cold was seeping into him, and the troll wished for the weather to be normal for once. The mutant took much more pleasure from warmer climates and the kinder breeze that caressed his gray skin. Karkat halted in his tracks to breathe small puffs of warm air into his glove-covered hands, and while doing so he made time to acknowledge the beauty of the whiteness that laid the land barren before him. Need to keep moving, he thought as he stuffed his hands back into his pockets and doubled his speed to work.

The Sgrub Asylum was a very large, cubicular, white-brick building that corresponded with the snow falling gently out of the night sky. For an asylum, the exterior was quite plain; it was so surprisingly boring, it could lull someone into a comfortable sleep. There were absolutely no windows on the block-shaped building, and only two doors, one on the front used by doctors and healthy trolls to leave and enter the facility, and the other for patients to simply get out and roam inside the fenced area, never truly leaving the asylum. The large amount of land, which seemed almost too roomy, around the building was caked in snow, and there was a small frozen pond that laid to the side. A fence surrounded the area to make sure no patient could escape—an electrical fence. The voltage was so high, it could equal to about a thousand lightning bolts; to say that a troll could be easily killed by the shock was a dramatically serious understatement. On all four corners of the Sgrub Asylum fences were tall watch towers, and inside each sat an archeradicator diligently, braving through the bitter cold that nipped their hides. They kept a watchful, sharp eye on each patient to make sure they would not attack any visitors or doctors or nurses. Should that happen, an archeradicator would immobilize the patient with a tranquilizer tied onto a headless arrow.

Karkat had felt wary from the constant stare of the archeradictors, even from the first time he visited the Sgrub Asylum. It was as if those stoic trolls were looking right through him, piercing straight through his small body with a simple gaze. Almost as if the trolls were judging him, peering through his skin to peek at the red candy blood in his veins. Karkat shook the feeling of insecurity off and rushed to the front entrance. He pushed the small red button on the panel by the fence door for it to slide open. He rushed through the door, and into the fences that formed a tunnel all around Karkat. He tred slowly, and watched himself all the way to the asylum entrance. One wrong step and he could be dead on the floor turned into a nice piece of crispy troll-toast. Grubsauce please!

As soon as the young troll arrived inside the building, he sighed in relief, palming his face to wipe the sweat away from his brow. Dangerous stuff like that was too nerve-racking for Karkat. Maybe he should start wearing a suit made from strong rubber for now on. Ah, maybe the new uniform was created out of rubber. He needed to find Terezi and retrieve his locker key, anyway.

The Sgrub Asylum's interior design differed much from the exterior. The walls were painted in all different colors—all of the colors of the hemospectrum—in all different sorts of designs, like circles and stripes and zigzags, but the foor tiles were simply white. It was rather tasteful and vibrant. The inside seemed somehow much larger than the outside, and there were several doors that led to several rooms, and only certain trolls knew where certain places went. Plaqued numbers and letters organized the rooms, and sections seemed to be laid out in the obvious alphabetical fashion. For some strange reason, the hallways seemed to be void of life today. It was really buzzing yesterday, how curious. Karkat shook his head and continued onward to Terezi's office.

Terezi was busy playing with chalk on her once clean desk by stacking one on top of the other vertically. This was more difficult than it should be. Terezi stood tall on her manager's chair, trying not to breathe, but she needed to breath. She needed to smell the chalk unless she wanted to fuck up and knock Chalk de Tower down. When you already have the disadvantage of being blind, you kind of need your sense of smell to kick in and help you build a gigantic tower of magnificent smelling chalk. The manager's shaky hand shifted over right above the tower, and she bit her lip. Can't breathe on it . . . do not breathe on it . . . sniff from an angle . . . not a sound . . .

The blind she-troll fell onto her desk, knocking all of her pleasant smelling chalk down, and they scattered everywhere, as well as some loose papers. They rolled into crevices unknown, and she might have scraped some sticks of chalk a tad bit _too _hard on the desk. That will leave a mark. And all of this happened because of a door opening and slamming shut and a fucking voice bothering her with the most irritable tone ever: "Where is my damn uniform?" It said, and Terezi scowled. She sat back properly into her seat, and face palmed to the high heavens.

"Do you even know what the concepts of knocking are, Karkles?" Terezi snapped, face teal.

"Oh, pardon me, all my patience had fluttered through the bitter snow and zapped and died like an insignificant fly by the electrical fences outside. Oh, wait . . . can you hear that? It's the last uttered sentence it had to offer. It said 'Where is my damn uniform!'" Karkat growled, crossing his arms. In his opinion, Pyrope could construct a ship out of art supplies, but on her own time. Don't waste Karkat's time with your bullshit when you knew he was going to barge in soon.

"Did that stuff really just spewed out from the top of your thinkpan?" Terezi shook her head and frowned, pointing over to the corner of the room. She decided to chide him on for the hell of it, to push his buttons and see if a radioactive bomb would go off. "It's over there, and I would imagine you know where the bathrooms are. Or are you too stupid to figure out the simple navigation of my asylum?"

"I will find it just fine," Karkat gritted his teeth in annoyance, as he strode over to the corner, heaving the surprisingly hefty bag into his arms. He noticed the faint glimmer of his locker key inside. At least he didn't have to bitch to her about that. "In fact, I will find it so easily, I will turn into a fucking facility-compass and direct other trolls to that shit because _they _are too stupid to find the restroom, just watch me!" Karkat said defensively as he turned around and moved for the door.

"Have fun posing for the hidden cameras in the bathroom, Karkles!" She grinned deviously, waving her hand good bye. Karkat stiffened considerably, and he almost let a blush cross his cheeks. He muttered something along the lines of 'perverted blind demon' before he exitted the office. He was confident he could find the restroom so he could change into his new white uniform, he was sure of it. And he was positively sure that there were absolutely no fucking cameras in there.

"Wow, fuckass, how did you manage to mess up this time?" Karkat spoke incredulously to himself, and he began to make up a fake conversation to degrade himself further. "Congradulations, you managed to get lost in the hallways of the Sgrub Asylum, teased by all the doors around you that are only labeled with numbers and letters instead of a giant plaque that was labeled 'BATHROOM' and surrounded by invisible sick mental patients and 'noisy' doctors. How do you feel about this, Mister Vantas? It's so nice of you to ask, me, because I feel annoyed and incompetent as FUCK." Today was simply not the best day.

Karkat wanted to scream out in frustration, but that would be stupid. No, what was stupid was that there wasn't a map in the whole place. Or a sign that didn't have a number or a single letter. Actually, the ultimate stupidity was himself because he was so stupid for being a little arrogant tightass shit for biting the hook Terezi had so _obviously _set up for him, and he fell into the trap so hard, he metaphorically broke his spine. His arms were beginning to ache from the baggage he had been carrying for what seemed to be forever. How many minutes had it been already? What the fuck ever, Karkat didn't care, only becoming more and more irritated with each twitch of his eye. Terezi must be some variation of a tactical mindfucking genius who plots the demise of trolls' wills to carry on with their luggage.

Well played, Pyrope, well played.

***I read on the MSPA wiki that Alternia had two seasons: dark and dim. To me, it would seem appropriate for the weather to be snowy during a dark season! Read more about the Alternian seasons on MSPA wiki.**

**Alright guys, explain. 13 kudos, 3 comments, 1 bookmark, and 330 hits on ArchiveOfOurOwn, and 6 reviews, 12 favorites, 11 story alerts, and 164 hits on FFdotnet.**

**For one chapter. HOW.**

**akdfhlka—!**

**Happiness! I love you readers! :)**

**Love, starrynightly**


	3. Jade and Burgundy

Small note here, I do not think I can characterize Aradia well enough by her "alive" personality alone, so I shall be mixing elements of her "dead" personality and "alive" personality together. I hope that won't be too much of a problem for anyone!

An hour or two of trudging around a mental asylum can tire a troll out, especially when you are carrying the heaviest uniform ever crafted. No, Karkat, do not become more stupid than you already are. Obviously the contents of this bag have multiple uniforms. Or they really are made of the strongest, heaviest rubber ever to resist a million thunder bolts.

Karkat was not about to prove Terezi right by not finding the stupid bathroom, but now things began to look grim for him. His arms became more and more sore as he trudged around the area without a single clue of where he was going; Karkat wanted to rearrange this entire damn building to where he could find everything, to where it was easily excessible, and not look like a sorry wriggler who could not find his/her lusus. And did he ever mention how _hot_ it was? The thick, wooly clothes he wore indoors that slowly baked Karkat alive was the universe's polite loophole of saying 'fuck you'.

So the asylum was not completely quiet, as Karkat heard the occassional loud murmur through the walls. Then there were the obnoxious moans and tortured screams, and you are _lying_ if you said Karkat did not flinch. However, no one was outside of any of the rooms and to Karkat it made the scene scarier and that more cliché. But Karkat found himself safest walking against the iridescent walls, knowing it was good to simply lean against something solid. By the end of his career or whatever, Karkat figured he would become insane as the rest of those poor trolls.

The heavy bag and the hot, sweaty clothes were taking its toll on the small troll's body, and Karkat thought that was just pathetic. He seriously needed to find the bathroom now before he could die of a heat stroke. The mutant contemplated on sitting down and rest for a brief moment, but discarded the thought immediately. Terezi could be watching through the security cameras. Just imagining her shit-eating grin made him shudder, and his face twisted into momentary distaste. But now that Karkat thought about it, were they possibly blackflirting with each other? There was the annoying teasing from Terezi, and he made a few retorts on his own . . . No, Karkat, it was probably just a mutual—damn it—dislike that had nothing to do with blackrom whatsoever. Or maybe he was the only one to dislike her. That sounded about right.

Kanaya Maryam, a well respected doctor of the Sgrub Asylum, exitted out of her patient's room with a large sigh playing off her jade lips, and she locked the room with the designated key. Kanaya leaned against the white door as she peered down at her clipboard and with her jade ink pen, she solemnly created a small note to the side, saying that Patient 6S88V's depression became worse. Patient 6S88V was exhibiting signs of stress and sorrow, as well as extreme guilt for the crimes she had committed in the past, and she was experiencing suicidal thoughts, attempting suicidal actions . . . Another sigh escaped from her. The patient's depression was also taking a toll on her.

Karkat nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard a door open and close quietly behind him. He flipped around and saw a female troll standing about two to three inches taller than himself wearing a white overcoat. Holy shit, was . . . was that an actual staff member? Karkat immediately bounded up to her with a desperate scowl permanently locked onto his lips. "Hey, can I get some fucking help over here? I need to find the damn bathroom and it seems to be nowhere around here and I feel as though I'm going to fucking incinerate inside my own fucking clothing. So, troll to troll here, come help me find the stupid place."

Kanaya snapped over to the shorter troll, a grimace on her face. Unless she was mistaken, this must be the new nurse of the Sgrub Asylum. Word naturally floated around quickly in the institute, and she had first heard of the rumor from Equius, another respectable doctor and part-time security. Pity though, Equius had always desired to be an archeradicator, not to take mental trolls down by physical force. Kanaya digressed, returning her attention to the surprisingly ornery troll. "I will not help you because you are, whether you realize it or not, are demanding something of me when you should be using proper vocabulary instead of curses and obnoxiously rude diction. I am afraid I will have to ask you to seek out the facilities on your own. Good day." Kanaya shook her head and walked past the nurse, entering the next hallway.

Karkat blinked as if he was in a drug induced daze, and luckily he snapped out of it before Kanaya could venture away too quickly. It burned him to submit to Kanaya the way he did, but he desperately needed the help—even though his pride would be mortally wounded for a little while. But even if he couldn't get help, and he was sure he wouldn't get any, he would do the very least and apologize to her. He did get off on the wrong foot with her, after all, though . . . unintentionally. Karkat called out to the she-troll. "W-wait a minute! Please stop!"

Kanaya, extremely wishing she was not present now, sucked it up and turned around to the ornery troll with a distasteful disposition about her lovely features. "What is it, Mister Vantas?" She asked hastily, attempting to make this painful conversation end as quickly as possible.

"How do you know my name?" Karkat blinked before he shook it off. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry, alright? I'm just frustrated because of the new environment and how I'm not even competent enough to find the _restroom_ of all things so I can change into my uniform—_Terezi—_and I'm still not used to the idea of catering to a deranged psycho-juggalo no matter how much I think about it. And I can't get over it, and I can't get over myself, so, _fuck_, I'm sorry, okay?"

Apologizing was always hard for someone like Karkat, a troll with a harsh outside, but then his insides were as mushy as jelly flavored insecurity and conflicted emotions. And it was no surprise how he was too shy to look at Kanaya's face, or how he walked past her with tense shoulders, refusing to look back at the jadeblood in a last attempt to redeem himself. Kanaya bit her lip. As an outstanding doctor, a civil worker, she should have known that Karkat was pleading in distress. Perhaps Patient 6S88V's depression had rooted a bit too deep into her own mind . . . taking over her ability to care despite the needy's behavior. "Wait," she said, effectively halting Karkat in his tracks.

The mutant turned around to face Kanaya once more, though hesitantly. "Yeah?"

Kanaya shook her head and walked up to Karkat, holding her hand out in a request for a handshake. "Let us start over, Mister Vantas. Doctor Kanaya Maryam." Her voice was noticeably firm, confident, and quite proper as she realized she needed to be able to confront him without any qualms.

Karkat stared at her hand, which was covered in the medical standard elastic white glove, as if he did not know what to do with it. He sat his bag of uniforms carefully onto the floor and stood erect before he took her hand into his own in a firm handshake. "Karkat Vantas," he said, a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.

"And for the love of fuck, don't call me 'Mister Vantas.'"

"Uh, how do I look?" Karkat asked his new found friend as he turned around in circles in one of his many pristine, white uniform. It did not stray too far away from his normal casual clothing. Flowy pants, a loose, long-sleeve shirt with buttons vertically spread at the top that allowed him the option to reveal a part of his upper chest or not. He kept each individual one buttoned. He wished the uniform could, at least partially, cover his neck, but alas. The uniform even came with three pairs of white flats for guys. As a safety measure, he kept his locker key within his right shoe, which laid beneath his sole. It didn't bother him too much either. However, the curious thing was how the Sgrub Asylum obtained his clothing and shoe measurements. It was simply bizarre. But whatever, it was nice and not so hot anymore and life was beautiful now.

Kanaya critically analysed the uniform with a keen eye that made Karkat cringe, she dug her chin into the back of her hand in thought. Karkat needed some color with his uniform, and she could not quite place it. "You need some gray, perhaps on or around your torso," she said with dissatisfaction lingering in her voice. What color could possibly match him so well . . . Kanaya, a part-time fashion designer, could not put a finger on it. But then again, red and gray would seem good contenders, but both seemed to be too . . . unnatural to be considered.

Karkat scoffed, stuffing the rest of his dark season clothes into the bag along with the other uniforms and shoes before holding it in his arms again. "What are you, the fashion police? I look fine."

"If you already thought you looked fine, then why did you ask for my opinion, Karkat?" She asked with a coy smirk.

"Oh, ha ha. A real comedian, too." He sneered playfully at her. Then it became quiet again, the echoes going faint as the laughter died down. "Hey, why is it so quiet here anyway? Yesterday the hallways were packed of trolls and it was so noisy and nearly unmanageable," Karkat's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Oh yes, about half an hour ago curfew began, and it shall take place for the rest of the day, beside meal times, of course," Kanaya nodded.

"Curfew for a whole day? What the hell are the patients supposed to do the whole time they are locked up inside?"

"Oh, the doctors of the Sgrub Asylum take the time to spend the whole day with their patients, and if they choose not to, they just don't," Kanaya shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Then we typically relax in the staff lounge and stock up on medicines for our patients—say, which doctor were you assigned to again? . . ."

"Aradia Megido. I still haven't met her yet, or . . . Makara," he cringed.

"I see," Kanaya's lips pursed grimly. "Aradia will be in the lounge—if I can recall correctly from one of Aradia's ramblings, Patient 13G4M does not enjoy visitors whenever it was time for curfew. He said it was his time to . . . think." Her voice trailed off mysteriously, and the expression on her face gave away that she was deep in thought. She had mixed emotions about Gamzee Makara, mostly the negative ones stemmed from her patient. But as a professional doctor, she must cast away all other opinions when they are not needed. Gamzee Makara was simply a very disturbed individual that transended the definition of his diagnosis, and that was that. She shook away from these thoughts. "I shall escort you to the lounge so you can get acquainted with Doctor Megido, and you can store away all of your items into your locker."

"Hello, are you the new nurse?" Aradia asked curiously as the the pair entered the staff lounge. The longue was filled with colors, even with one that did not seem typical of existance. There was a white couch in the middle of the room that lied before a relatively sized TV. The lounge separated into two other rooms, a small kitchen, and a medium-sized locker room. To the right of the lounge was a large table, no doubt used for medicinal practices. Aradia stood over said table with an intrigued look upon her face.

"Yes, I am, and, uh, seen any dead bodies lately?—oh shit, I did not just say that!" Karkat buried his face into the palms of his hand to cover his embarrassment. Unfortunately, his embarrassment seemed to radiate off his body, and it was a miracle how his cheeks were not heating up. Perhaps it was his years of practice of bodily control. "I'm just . . . gonna go over there." He pointed to the direction of the locker room, and he quickly abscond from Aradia and Kanaya's sights.

"What is his deal?" Aradia asked, stuffing three syringes into her overcoat's pocket, along with a bottle of pills to the side. She appeared to be uneffected by the comment Karkat had passed out of nervous impulse. In fact, she found it rather precious that he would attempt to appeal to her abnormal sense of humor, the poor troll.

"He has a bad problem with making a good first impression," Kanaya nodded in confirmation, crossing her arms behind her back.


	4. Spray Can

Karkat rushed inside the locker room with an embarrassed, tight frown on his face. Of course he would fuck up in front of Aradia, and to do it so _lamely_—ugh, he was disgusted with himself. Whatever. The horrible deed was done. Karkat dug into his right shoe for his locker key, which was easier said than done, because he ended up taking off his shoe and became more irritated in the process. His locker number was on the key, but he was to sore to disclose such a number to you. Needless to say, he opened his locker, stuffed all of his shit inside without much care, slammed it shut, and listened to the automatic lock click. He dropped his key inside his shoe and placed his foot inside. At least it was nice to finally rid himself of all that weight, and no more unbarible heat, either.

Aradia and Kanaya entered the locker room after discussing Karkat's behavior. Kanaya had warned Aradia to not make Karkat irritated or shy, or he may just throw a fit because he has a need to continue his tough exterior. Aradia, a long time friend of Kanaya, took the advice with careful consideration, but she figured she might as well wing it. "Karkat? I believe we need to have a proper introduction," Aradia's voice rang with playful amusement, eager to appropriately meet the male nurse.

Karkat turned around to Aradia, and his frown increased in size. He crossed his arms protectively over himself. "Yeah, sure. I only hope that I don't say anything stupid again out of the anxiety that normally plagues me day and night." Aradia said nothing, but she gave Karkat an odd look. He returned that look. Then it dawned on him. "No, wait, I don't have ANY kind of disorder or sickness or such shit like that! It's just . . . just!—UGH!" Karkat ran a hand through his raven hair, tugging on it. "It's just that I'm nervous about meeting new trolls, alright?" Especially if someone decided to bust a knife out at any opportune moment and slice open his flesh for his mutant blood.

Aradia giggled, hiding her pretty smile with the back of her white-gloved hand. "That is quite okay, Karkat, I understand. Most trolls attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable by starting the conversation off with a joke with a troll they just met. But back to the matters at hand, I am Doctor Aradia Megido, and I will be your superior. We will be working together to bring our patient Gamzee Makara, Patient 13G4M, back to mental stability." Aradia held her hand out for a handshake, and Karkat took it without much hesitation. "Excellent. Not only is our job to improve the patient's health, but it is our responsibility to improve upon Gamzee's informational records and files. So if he tells you _anything_, even if it is a lie, tell me immediately, is this clear?"

Karkat nodded, though he was somewhat sour about being the inferior partner in this situation, but he knew that was to be expected. "Crystal."

"Very good! Now, it's the Sgrub Asylum's policy to introduce the new co-worker to his or her patient . . . even though Gamzee dislikes it whenever anyone disturbs him during curfew," Aradia bit her lip. Karkat blinked, and his eyes glazed over Aradia's thoughtful expression. He didn't want to see him yet. He didn't want to experience first-hand the psycho's insanity. He would never admit it aloud, but he was afraid, and he still had not met him yet. "Policy is policy," Aradia murmured quietly, turning to the door. "Come along, Karkat. Oh, and when you encounter him for the first time, please do not call him by his Identification Number or by his last name.

"And would you like to come along, Kanaya?" Aradia asked curiously.

"No, I must restock medicines for Patient 6S88V's depression. She is . . . considerably worse, now," Kanaya murmured sullenly, looking off to the side. Aradia smiled sympathetically at her friend. She knew Kanaya felt awful about her inability to heal her moirail, to coax her out of the shell she had created to hide in her delusional fantasies. To hide away from the murder, the denial, the guilt that had festered into tumor on the patient's black heart inside the small crevice of her mind, tainted by negativity of insanity. By the end of the night, Aradia can see the frustration upon Kanaya's face, as if she did not want to play the savior any longer. Yet Aradia wondered why Kanaya always went back to Vriska, even whenever she felt so sickened by her.

"Okay," Aradia nodded in understanding, "we shall return later."

The hallways were eerily quiet, too silent for Karkat's comfort. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, as if there was a chill that swept over him, damning his body to the cool. The shorter troll followed Aradia with the soft taps of their feet in tow, that was, until Aradia halted in front of door 024B. Aradia flashed Karkat an encouraging smile as she dug into her pocket for the room key. The generous smile made Karkat feel only somewhat better, but not really. Karkat could only sense the vascular pump inside his chest racing, as if it was trying to break free of his ribcage and take off, and the sound of a key unlocking the door before them.

Aradia motioned Karkat to step inside first, but he kept still. Aradia rolled her eyes, but she understood. It was okay to be scared of criminally insane mental patients. The female doctor lightly shoved Karkat inside the surprisingly large and empty room. The area smelled sterile. The room was splattered with white and indigo, assumingly not entirely white because of the Sgrub Asylum's desire for Gamzee to connect with himself as a highblood. There was a dark red recuperacoon in one corner of the room, however it was completely locked up to the point where no slime could ooze out. In another corner, there was an obnoxious pile of bicycle horns. On the floor, scattered about were white and light gray greasepaints.

Lastly there was a large, horizontal pole that extended from one wall to the other. Upon that pole was a gangly troll hanging upside-down of his own free will, with the beam tucked snuggly beneath his knees. He wildly thrashed around in his straight jacket with the utmost concentration to get out, to break free. He tugged and pulled against the strong cloth that held his arms captive, against the unbreakable chains that held loops together with an unreachable lock. His wily untamed hair and dangerously long horns matched his unruly, jerky movements, making him appear as something as a violent and angry animal. There was no doubt that the room's only source of sound came from the troll, snarling and growling at everything and nothing. It was some sort of a miracle that he didn't fall off the pole, or for the beam to fall down on its own. Consider Karkat thoroughly intimidated, and thank god Gamzee had not noticed the two intruders step inside his respiteblock.

"Gamzee!" Aradia barked at the psycho-juggalo, and said troll stopped dead in tracks. His crazed, dialated indigo eyes darting everywhere before locking onto Aradia. "Stop doing that, you'll hurt yourself!" Karkat heard Gamzee growl, a deep growl that eminated from his chest, and the next thing he noticed were Gamzee's long frontal fangs. Oh, fuck. "Now, come down, I have someone I would like you to meet." When did Aradia closed the door again? The doctor took Karkat's wrist into her hand and literally dragged him to Gamzee. The both of them now stood before him, but at a relatively safe distance away from him.

"I don't wanna come down," Gamzee gruffed, and his legs tightened around the beam. "You can't make me do anything I don't wanna up and do. Or come down and do. Ya dig?"

"I dig," she sighed, shaking her head. She tugged Karkat in front of her, and she peeked at Gamzee from behind him. "Gamzee, this is Karkat Vantas. He is the new nurse of the Sgrub Mental Hospital. He will be your own personal attendant, and hopefully your new best friend." Aradia jabbed Karkat's side a little to get him to speak, needless to say, the poke made him squeak inaudibly.

"H-hey," Karkat said awkwardly, scratching at the nape of his neck. All he could focus on was the baritone voice that belonged the juggalo's.

"I'm motherfucking upside-down because the blood travels south—north?—and parties in my pan," Gamzee said suddenly. "It helps me think. Wanna know what I'm thinking, bro?" Karkat could only nod. "Well, I'm thinking about what kind of miracle paint could be stored inside that small body of a spray can of yours," he said. Gamzee managed to shift his legs to where he flipped off the beam, and turned around to Karkat. He trudged closer to the mutant, too close for comfort. Aradia had already backed off to see how things would progress between the two of them, so she watched from the sidelines.

"Everyone else wears their paint somewhere, except for you, motherfucker. The circles around those black dots are still all gray, and you're pretty short for a dude. You hidin' from something? Something you don't want me to see?—for anyone to all see with the holes in their heads?" His voice flucuated from a soft, quiet indoor voice to a loud, thunderous tone that could shatter clot drums. All Karkat could do was stand there, silently, frozen, as Gamzee moved closer to him at his own slow pace. He leaned down to stare right into Karkat's terrified eyes.

"So are you going to show me or fucking what? My curiosity is bumping through my thinkpan like some wicked beatboxing that don't got any rappers in this cheat music album's special edition. So, educate me on what the motherfuck your wicked paint is!" Gamzee delved in to bite Karkat somewhere, somehow, to drip and rain the mutant's blood, but the next thing that happened was unseen, and the only the sound of an echoing slap could be heard.

Gamzee's eyes had widened in shock, his head twisted to the side from the force of the slap to his cheek, and Karkat was panting harshly, angrily. That's when his anger exploded, much to Aradia and Gamzee's surprise. He stood as tall as he could on both of his legs and jabbed a finger at his chest repetitively and unforgivingly. "See here, you IGNORANT shitlord!

"You do not TOUCH me—you will certainly not BITE me for one, and you will certainly LEARN that the color of my blood is NOBODY'S FUCKING BUSINESS, especially NOT YOURS, YOU PATHETIC JUGGALO. And if I have to grab a fucking text book about the teachings of privacy and bang it on your idiotic head again and again to schoolfeed you, I fucking will! Who the fuck are you to say I'm HIDING my blood color anyway? Maybe I'm just not one of those people who wears their caste on their shitty sleeves? And, "bro", I AM NOT A SPRAY CAN, AND I AM NOT FUCKING SMALL YOU MISERABLE NOOKSNIFFER!" Gamzee was only able to stare silently as Karkat continued ranting on and on, flapping his lips and spewing insults as if it was all some waterfall.

"Shhh," Gamzee said, barely beneath his breath.

"And just WHAT THE FUCK do you WANT, you sopor'ed up SLIME—"

"Shhhh."

"'Shhh?' What the hell are you doing—"

"Shhhhhh."

". . ."

Aradia could only stare at the two with an intrigued look upon her face as Gamzee calmed Karkat's ass down. She did not know if Gamzee disliked the yelling, or disliked the insults thrown at his way, or some other third thing. Though Karkat decided to glare quietly at Gamzee, he did not yell, scream, shout, or poke his chest viciously anymore. She blinked once. She blinked twice. What the fuck just happened?

"Miracles."

Reverse-moirailing anyone? Oh, and fun fact! If you whisper into a child's ear whenever they are loud, upset, and crying, they'll quiet down to hear what you are saying. :)


	5. Pale Problems

I totally would have uploaded this at 2am last night, but my wifi was gone temporarily, and now I'm back! Woo! And I adore all of the reviews, favorites, and alerts I received while I was away, not to mention all of the kudos and comments on ArchiveOfOurOwn! Happinesssss!

And I now just realized that the pluses that were the line breaks of the story were not showing up on , so I shall be using the long dashes. So ha. Take that, you stupid website. No, I'm kidding. But at least ArchiveOfOurOwn lets you do whatever the hell you want symbol-wise.

Enjoy the chapter! (Insert heart because you can't do it on )

—

After Karkat had fully calmed down, Gamzee only stared at the shorter male. He did not do anything but stare, much to Karkat's adding discomfort and Aradia's growing interest. This is good, Aradia mused idly, Karkat will certainly last longer than the last nurse. Which hand did he lose again? The right or the left? Oh well, it did not matter. What did matter was that she had left her observation clipboard in the staff lounge. Damn. She had better take good mental notes then.

Due to pent up frustrations from earlier today, Karkat had let loose on an outlet. Which happened to be the murderous mental patient who calmed his ass down so quickly, thoughts of danger that revolved around Gamzee evaded the troll's thinkpan. And it had felt good, too, to release some of that tension, all of that stress. It was much more satisfying than yelling at random troll, and that was what made him nervous.

Out of habit, which increased under the highblood's unwavering gaze, he tugged his shirt down, creasing out the wrinkles on his uniform. He recrossed his arms defensively over his chest, returning the highblood's stare with bravado. Karkat did not know what to do, what to say next. He did not know what could set Gamzee off or not. All he could do was stare back into those indigo tinted eyes and hope the juggalo will not pull any shenanigans while he was conflicted by troubling emotions.

What Gamzee did there just a moment ago was . . . a pale _action_, definitely not a pale flirt. There was a difference. Of this, Karkat was sure because of all of his meticulous, late-night studies of the troll romances and the quadrants via gloriously filmed romcoms. Moiraillegiance was formed when both trolls could pacify each other's violent tendancies, and was based upon pity that was lighter than the flushed quadrant. Moiraillegiance was a term used to describe a fated friendship, as vague as it may be, and Karkat felt confused by what had just happened. Of course, he had never been in any kind of relationship before, but romcoms are the unquestionable, steady anchor for the dreams of fancy he abidded to without doubt, right? Right.

But this seemed to be the exception. Although Gamzee had expressed a pale action, he was sure that had been some instinctual trait inherited by the teachings of his lusus. Wait . . . damn it, Karkat, this was no time to think like an asshole either! Alright. Maybe it was just a freak thing, because surely the highblood could not feel pale for the small troll already, and Karkat definitely did not feel pale for him. Because, even with "fated friends," which was a thin line set between the pale and flushed quadrants itself, you couldn't immediately fall in pale with someone you had just literally met. Things need to have time to grow before they blossum into something wondrous first. And . . .

This is stupid, and Karkat, you are thought-rambling.

Suddenly Gamzee's attention shifted to Aradia, and he grinned. Though his smile seemed awkward, anxious, and questionably shy, and it made his messily-applied greasepaint mix and blur together with his facial features. In fact, there were only large blobs of make up on his face, as if he had shoved his face into the make up, down onto the floor, because he could not use his hands, and—oh. Sad thoughts led to sad places, Karkat, just don't think anymore. The Capricorn jerked his head to the side, motioning to the mutant blood. "He's a chill motherfucker. Honk." Gamzee turned away from the two trolls and moved slowly to the horn pile. He turned around once again and plopped right into the bicycle horns.

The horn's collective, unharmonious noise was almost deafening, and it made everyone in the room flinch. After the noise died down, Gamzee's body quickly relaxed, a lazy look upon his face. However, his face was contorted subtlely in a way to where you could tell that he was thinking. Or unwilling thinking of something bad. It was as if Gamzee had sat down on the horn pile for the sole purpose of scarying away something he did not like. Something evil, dark, morbidly upsetting, and Karkat came to the conclusion that Gamzee was frightening away his own thoughts, hiding away from his own thinkpan.

Aradia's thoughts thus far between the interactions of Gamzee and Karkat: romantic pale tension. She scratched at her cheek out of the perplexment from Gamzee's behavior, but she smiled regardless at her patient. "That is excellent news to hear, Gamzee. Perhaps the both of you," her burgundy eyes darted from Gamzee to Karkat, "will get along . . . nicely, indeed." Aradia peered downwards, pulling back her sleeve to reveal her watch. It was slightly past noon.

"Once again, it is time for your medication, Gamzee," she said, shifting her free hand into her coat pocket to grasp the bottle of pills she swiped from the lounge earlier, "but Zahhak is not here to serve lunch yet." Aradia made a distinct sound of I-am-really-not-impressed-with-that-guy, and she shifted her sleeve to cover her watch once more.

The door clicked and unlocked, swinging wide open. A stainless steel trolley pushed through the entrance and behind it was a huge blueblood troll with broken sunglasses. Karkat's lips curled in distaste, and he narrowed his eyes at the troll, mainly because he caught a glimpse of something rather . . . shiny and dripping, covering the visible parts of the troll's body. "Are . . . are you fucking _sweating_?"

Equius, doctor and part time security, due to his monstrous strength, of course, was on lunch duty because it was his turn to serve the trolls too volatile to join the cafeteria. But now that the blueblood thought about it, he was on lunch duty a lot. But that did not matter. What did matter was that he was late. He was a minute late to serve the highblood, and a minute too late to impress Aradia. Anxiousness swelled within him as he thought about the disappointing click the Aries made with her tongue against her white teeth, and the swell soon peered out of all of his pores. When he opened the door with Skeleton Key he posessed, and the first thing he saw was the new nurse and the scowl upon his face, and no color whatsoever. No color. _No color_. Equius was so focused on the concept, he hadn't notice Karkat say anything at all.

"Oh merciful shit, you are! That's absolutely disgusting!" Karkat hissed, backing far away from the gargantuan troll (seriously, the guy was huge—even though he was only _somewhat _taller than Gamzee) and closer to the Capricorn. The psycho-juggalo was much more superior compared to any chance of being rained on by a perspiring ookbeast. And thank god, there were covers above the food in the trolley. To have that guy pushing the trolley around is completely unsanitary! Hell would freeze over first if the Cancer was _ever_ going to allow the oaf with broken sunglasses to serve _any _kind of food to Gamzee.

"Karkat, do not be rude!" Aradia reprimanded the mutant troll with a scowl on her face. The mutant blinked, whining as he gesticulated wildly at Equius with outstretched hands as if to say the blueblood's very presense itself was mildly offensive. Aradia gave him a spooky, wide-eyed look telling him to shut up. "Go play with Gamzee."

Now Karkat gave her a look, then he turned back to Gamzee to give him a look, whom returned his look with a devious grin and a breathy snicker. Karkat looked sorely back to Aradia. "Fine," he grounded out before snarling at Equius and walking over to converse with the clown sitting in the horn pile.

Aradia rolled her eyes as she glided over to the sweaty troll, settling a hand over the trolley. "You're late. Why?"

After the muscular troll had gotten over the initial shock, his attention finally attended to the Aries, where it should have been in the first place. "I-I am sorry?"

"I said: 'You're late. Why?'. The question stands, Doctor Zahhak."

Equius shook his head as if he were burdened with immense guilt, and in a really odd way, he was. "Please forgive me, I _strongly_ needed to attend to Patient 3NL33 for one more moment at the expense of being late to serve lunch, and I saw it fit to do so."

Needless to say, Aradia was very annoyed with the other doctor. Though most trolls could sympathize with the thought of one desiring to spend more time with his or her mentally incapable moirail, the trolls of the Sgrub Asylum could not. Time was essential, especially when it dealt with pale relationships and other affairs. Spending time for more than one second with any troll could spark jealousy, cause fights, start arguments over the daily schedules, or something else idiotically complex. "Zahhak, please understand just how _unfair_ it is of you to spend even one extra moment with Nepeta, your only patient, when I am only allowed three hours with my moirail. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Equius shook his head, his hands tightening onto the trolley's handles. Oh, he created a dent. That did not matter. "I apologize profusely, Doctor Megido, but she was tearing her hair out again, and I had to force her to stop, and—!"

"Equius . . ." She sighed. "This has to be the billionth time you used the poor girl's trichotillomania to spend more time with her."

"You are being irrational about this, lowblood; it is not my fault that my beloved moirail is traumatized by the fact that her fantasy world is merely just a fantasy, but it is my fault that I am unable to attend her to the best of my ability due to the schedule I follow. If you are so consumed by your jealousy, I would take your word up with Missus Pyrope. I am one hundred percent positive that Doctor Peixes would adore the lessened work load, and I myself have work to do, so if you do not mind . . ." Equius stood away from the trolley, so absolutely not one drop would dribble and taint the food.

Aradia scowled, but she went ahead and began to collect Gamzee's food from the trolley. The contents the plastic plate held were mashed potatoes, corn, peas. Foods that required cutting or stabbing were not allowed for obvious reasons. Aradia took out a bottle of Gamzee's medication and pushed two pills inside the mashed potatoes. She was not being irrational. She was simply honoring the policy strictly set for the Sgrub Asylum staff. But she did admit that Equius's idea was rather top drawer. Perhaps she will invest some time into speaking with the manager of the asylum, and who knows. She could have her way after all.

Aradia bidded Equius farwell, a plate of steaming food in her hands and on top of it all was a spoon. She turned over to Karkat and Gamzee, who were sitting next to each other on the horn pile. They both seemed rather serene pressed up against each other. The look she gave them was nothing short of a customary 'what the hell?'.

Gamzee was the first who saw the look, but Karkat was the first to say anything about it. "What? Never seen a psychotic juggalo and a royal asshole getting along together on a shitty pile of bicycle horns inside of a mental asylum completely off its rocker in a normal, platonic, totally-not-pale-at-all-way before?"

The Aries had no idea what to say, so she shook her head. All she actually wondered was how Karkat managed to sit in the horn pile without making a single sound.


	6. Mirthful Greasepaints

This sudden bond between Karkat and Gamzee was strange, Aradia concluded with a heavy thinkpan. These two would be an interesting psychological study most therapists would love to examine and test. To her, it was without a single doubt that the trolls would become moirails. Most moirails sat together on an obscure mound of particular items almost as if it were a nest they guard together. Aradia hypothesized it to be some form of subconscious trust exercise, but little in troll society invested much into the research. The act was second nature at least, and no one greatly desired to tamper with it.

Karkat said they were not moirails. They aren't moirails. But Aradia was firm in her conviction that they will become moirails. Or perhaps the two are moirails, though Karkat doesn't want anyone else to know about their relationship. Karkat seems as if he would guard the identities of his quadrants closely, or hide his quadrants in general. Yet Gamzee and Karkat were sitting on a pile of bicycle horns flaunting their glorious nest in a somewhat public display of pale affection. It made no sense according to Aradia's hypothesis, but to her it was a gut-feeling. Then again, they could be flirting with each other before they officially tied the diamond knot.

They only sat beside each other. There were no entangled limbs, no tender hugs, no kisses of adoring affection; nothing. Just sitting. This was frustrating. Frustrating because the affection did not necessarily define moiraillegiance but the calming effect on the parent, and Aradia knew this, but she was awfully irritated by how she had little time to her own with Sollux. Excuse her, Patient 22C6S. Aradia had to maintain the professional prowess as a skilled psychiatrist, not some pity-sick schoolgirl. Though an arrangement could be made with Doctor Peixes about it, if she discussed it with her through Pyrope. The poor heiress was always so busy with her patients after all, collecting hours of community service that would escalate her popularity as the future Imperious Condescension.

That seemed always foolish to the rustblood. Who would possibly care about whatever Doctor Peixes contributed to a mental asylum? Society frowned upon the mentally inadequate with grimaces, disdain, or disgust while no one had ever truly tasted the tortures each patient experienced. What does Feferi, the successor to the throne, obtain from all of this? Aradia shook her head. It was awful of her to assume that the sea dweller was catering to an ulterior motive. In reality she was kind, gentle, and helpful with a bubbly attitude to boot. As an Alternian empress, Doctor Feferi Peixes would be most certainly appealing—more so than the current ruler could ever be. Unless she was to be corrupted with power and riches, but that was a tale saved for the future.

Aradia was set in a daze from the new thoughts pouring into her thinkpan, and newly made opinions on people. The food on the plate that rested in her two hand was beginning to cool, but she could not bring herself to tell Karkat to feed Gamzee. But that was alright, Karkat snapped her out of her stupor.

"Hey, Megido, are you going to let me feed this ridiculous clown, or what?" Karkat's tone bore concern, mainly from Aradia's flight from Alternia. However, that didn't stop him from being rude.

"Y-yes," she stammered. "Feed Gamzee, make sure he consumes his medicine," she sighed, walking to Karkat so she could give him the plate of food. The cancer quickly snatched the plate out of her hands. However, he was unfortunately reminded of his own pang of hunger in his stomach.

"When do I eat?" he asked curiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Equius slip out of the room with his trolley silently, without any noise whatsoever. That was surprising for a muscle-y sweat-barn. Then again, he somehow managed to sit on a pile of fucking bicycle horns with a gargantuan troll without creating a single sound. Karkat could feel his eye twitch. Karkat certainly did not enjoy himself when he saw Aradia shrug her shoulders. "You mean you don't know?"

"You're the only one who should know your own schedule, Mister Vantas—"

"Karkat," the mutant corrected her.

"—by discussing with Pyrope about it."

Today, everything sucks. "I don't want to talk to that asswipe again," he groaned. Suddenly, he became very aware of Gamzee's big, wide indigo eyes staring at him. Karkat wouldn't have been so distraught, or irritated, by the juggalo's look if it weren't for those sharp, dangerous fangs poking out of his lips so close to him. "Do you mind?"

"Honk?"

Needless to say, Karkat's new object of annoyance, with whom he bickered, made an excellent distraction for Aradia to slip out of the room undetected. She quietly closed the door, hoping not to alert the two trolls inside of her absence, and she locked the door. The nurse had better hope for nothing to go wrong; the asylum cared little for the nurses. If anything, the nurse are stock, the doctors are doomed to this task forever, and the patients are outcasts of society. Terezi and Feferi seemed to be the only two exceptions. However, in retrospect, Aradia could have given Karkat Gamzee's sedatives. Oh well, too late. Now, the time was to be with Sollux. Excuse her, Patient 22C6S.

—

It was not long after Aradia had left and Karkat had helped Gamzee eat his entire meal when the highblood became more talkative. This caught the slighter troll off guard, but he supposed a chatty mental defect was better than a silent, intimidating one. Though, there was only one thing that irritated Karkat about Gamzee. Okay, perhaps it was not the only one, but it was definitely the most noticeable one. His face.

"The Mirthful Messiahs are sending me the most fancy of whimsies, for no rustblooded mother—"

"Does anyone ever help put on your greasepaint?" Karkat questioned, rudely interrupting Gamzee's train of thought. "Like, at all? Or do you really like having your face that ridiculously messy?"

Gamzee seemed surprised, then mildly agitated by the question. "I do it myself because the Mirthful Messiahs won't allow me to let anyone else motherfuckin' do it."

"Alright. It's a crazy religious nut-job thing, I get it. But who in Hell are the Mirthful Messiahs?"

The indigo patient suddenly screamed from the top of his lungs at the mutant, "ME, MOTHERFUCKER!" Karkat immediately jumped from the horn pile onto his feet, raising his hands up defensively. The psycho-juggalo saw the look of terror in the eyes of his nurse, and almost immediately regretted shouting at him. Wait, did he really do that? "This brother is sorry," he drawled, his apology genuine. "No one ever seems to get the grasp on what things are seeming to be, ya know?"

That had made little to no sense to Karkat, and it was terrifying because it made no sense.

The eyes of Karkat were wide, and the troll was skittish and jumpy. No way in Hell would he sit next to him again. But he wanted to help, he had to help, he was being paid to help. Slowly, but surely, the short troll inched closer to the patient. He outstretched a hand toward his face. "Gamzee, let me help you with your—"

"Touch my motherfucking paints and I will shatter your wrist." Gamzee said it so quickly, fueled by his own rage and intensity. His eyes were suddenly sharp and his indigo irises were darkened. His lips were tight, and face long and angry with unhappy, sharp fangs. His body language was just as so, rigid, and uncomfortable with the notion of Karkat touching his face.

Karkat had snapped his hand back to himself, fearing he would lose it. Yet, for some reason unfathomable, he was determined to be different from all of the nurses with whom Gamzee had associated. Karkat tried again, this time more insistently. He muttered a soft curse beneath his breath as he reached his hand over to Gamzee's face.

Gamzee felt more and more uncomfortable as that hand inched closer, eyes wide and childlike, but he did not make an attempt to even indicate he would snap Karkat's wrist. As Karkat came closer, he leaned backwards against the horn pile, but then he could not lean any farther. He closed his eyes tightly with a large grimace on his face, and he waited for that hand to touch him. To Gamzee's surprise, that hand was calloused with work, yet soft and small. He feels it against his cheek, little fingers spreading his face paint. That hand was not hurting him, but actually helping him. The juggalo relaxed. Perhaps, Gamzee thought, this motherfucker ain't so bad. The Mirthful Messiahs shall allow this.

Karkat made a soft noise of contemplation on how to go about this. Gamzee was a clown, so it should be fitting to make him a clown-like face. But Karkat absolutely did not want to make Gamzee look like an absolute tool, more than he already was. Around his mouth he made with the gray face paint a large smile, and he darkened his eyes with that gray paint. Hell, might as well put a gray dot beside each eye. He colored the rest of his face white, which was sadly smudged with the gray. Karkat wasn't very creative, sue him, but at least Gamzee looked cleaner than he did before.

Karkat briefly examined the room for a mirror, but there was not one. He pulled away from Gamzee, crossing his arms. "There. Now, was it really that damn difficult?"

The mental patient peered at the mutant before him, shrugging weakly. "I guess motherfuckin' not."


End file.
